


cancelled plans

by the_jennster



Series: All Our Days [1]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Bonding, Gen, Hurt Kaz Brekker, Minor Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Physical Disability, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22102216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_jennster/pseuds/the_jennster
Summary: Jesper could count the moments that he had seen Kaz Brekker vulnerable on less than one hand, and he was almost certain that moment had been a fever dream brought on by a spiked drink at an enemy bar, so seeing him here, with pain written all-so-clearly over his face, looking like a drowned cat, and—Ghezen, was he bleeding? For a boy that Matthias called demon, he looked like he’d been dragged through hell.
Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Kaz Brekker & Jesper Fahey
Series: All Our Days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1444876
Comments: 23
Kudos: 300





	cancelled plans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scootercore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scootercore/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by [Scooter's PSA about Kaz's disability](https://chanukahspidey.tumblr.com/post/190024801095/psa-on-disability-before-you-drawwriteotherwise), and then it turned into bro bonding and cuddling, so I think it was a win-win all around.

There was a knock at his bedroom door and Jesper let out a quick breath, running a hand through his hair and making one more small adjustment to the candles on his nightstand. He’d…  _ suggested _ to Wylan that he stop by his room at the Slat tonight, maybe have a chat over a drink or two?

He hadn’t actually expected the merchling to  _ take _ his offer, meek as he was, but seeing as he had?

Well, Jesper counted this as a vic—

“I’m commandeering your bedroom for the night,” Kaz announced, opening the door with an impatient sigh, Jesper clearly having taken far too long to answer. Jesper resisted the urge to splutter out an argument as Kaz shed his coat, hesitating as he realized that there was no coatrack in Jesper’s narrow room and settling on draping it over the dresser. His black hair was plastered to his head, dripping wet and thoroughly ruining the intimidating cut (or “ridiculous”, if you listened to Nina), and he grimaced as his cane slipped slightly on the wooden floor, cursing as he stumbled.

Jesper could count the moments that he had seen Kaz Brekker vulnerable on less than one hand, and he was almost certain that moment had been a fever dream brought on by a spiked drink at an enemy bar, so seeing him here, with pain written all-so-clearly over his face, looking like a drowned cat, and— _ Ghezen,  _ was he bleeding? For a boy that Matthias called demon, he looked like he’d been dragged through hell.

“What  _ happened _ ?” he managed to ask and Kaz grumbled, sitting on the edge of Jesper’s bed.

“Dime Lions cut into our territory again,” he growled, unbuttoning his shirt with careful precision and absolutely  _ zero _ prompting on Jesper’s part, which was a rarity in and of itself. “And it’s raining.”

It was an unspoken truth that Kaz hated the rain with a burning passion, not because it ruined his hair (as Nina has suggested on many an occasion), but because it made his cane slip and slide and lose its grip, aggravating his injured leg with every misstep. Usually Kaz was able to make it up the stairs after a storm, though Inej often noted that he was grouchier afterwards, but raining  _ and _ an injury in a fight? Even that seemed to be a bit too daunting for the Bastard of the Barrel.

“Well, uh…” Jesper looked around his room, at the candles decorating free surfaces and bottle of wine stolen from the Crow Club’s kitchen. “I had plans.”

“Cancel them,” Kaz said curtly, as if he were giving orders on a job instead of claiming his bed.

Jesper was  _ going _ to object, but then Kaz shed his shirt entirely, revealing his pale chest littered with scars large and small from fights over the years. There was a deep gash on his upper arm, blood dripping onto the aged quilt across Jesper’s bed. Red bloomed onto the orange-gold jurda blossoms embroidered onto the blue Zemeni sky and he bit his tongue.

“If you’re just going to stand there and gawk, or will you go and get me something to clean this up with?”

“And miss the rest of the strip show?” Kaz shot him a withering glare and Jesper shrugged, ducking out and weaving through the hall towards the communal kitchen, where everything from food to medical supplies were kept.

When Kaz had offered Jesper a spot amongst the Dregs and, by extension, a room in the Slat, Jesper had carefully chosen this room on the ground floor, with windows facing the canal, which glittered with lights from the Barrel’s many clubs and attractions. On the nights he couldn’t sleep, the view kept him calm, assured him. It was also one of the closest rooms to the kitchen, as opposed to Kaz’s top-floor residence, which was so far from everything and posed the very dilemmas that Kaz was now trying to avoid.

As he was rummaging through the crowded and horribly disorganized cabinets, the door to the Slat creaked open, every board in the entry groaning.

“Hey there, Sunshine,” Jesper said without turning around, grinning when Wylan let out a small shriek.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked, walking into the kitchen. As Jesper turned to face him, he watched the younger boy take in the Slat. Jesper had to admit, it wasn’t much to look at. The dishes were never cleaned, and the stove was more likely to burn the place down than cook something, but compared to the alleyways and corners of the streets, it was beautiful.

“Everyone who’s been here a while knows which boards creak and doesn’t step there.” He flashed a smile and Wylan frowned.

“That’s not fair.”

Jesper only shrugged. “Call it security.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Wylan spoke again. “So, you, uh… wanted to do something?” His cheeks were red and his eyes wouldn’t meet Jesper’s and  _ damn Kaz for ruining his shot _ .

“Yeah, I… I can’t tonight. Plans changed.” Wylan’s face fell and Jesper tried to tell himself that there would always be other nights. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Wylan shrugged. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?” he offered with a nervous grin, though it held a hint of regret.

“Of course,” he told him, returning the smile and watching as the merchling turned and left, creaking the planks as he went.

_ Oh, Wylan _ , Jesper thought to himself, taking stock of the bandages in his arms.  _ I hate to watch you go, but I love to see you leave. _

“What took you so long?” Kaz snapped when Jesper walked in, hair a tousled mess in what he could only assume was an attempt to dry it. His wound was…  _ slightly _ less bloodied, but no less painful-looking, and he’d been courteous enough to use his dirtied shirt to keep Jesper’s quilt clean, so there was that.

“I had plans that needed cancelling,” he explained, handing the bandages to Kaz.

“I assure you that there will be other opportunities to get into Wylan Van Eck’s pants.” Jesper imagined that he would probably be as red as Wylan himself right about now, his cheeks burning brilliantly.

“I—What happened in the fight with the Dime Lions?” Jesper asked, sitting down on his bed next to Kaz. It had always seemed small to him (damn legs), but it was even smaller with someone else in it, especially with the fact that, while he’d been gone, Kaz had slid his cane on the mattress beside him, the crow’s head nestled amidst Jesper’s pillows.

“Same old, same old,” Kaz grunted. “But Inej was out of range with the roofs slick from the rain, so I wound up taking a knife to the arm.” He raised the aforementioned arm. “Which of course happened to be the one I used for my cane, and…” He gestured vaguely, to the cane by his side and his leg. “Damn thing.”

“You know, Nina probably knows a healer around here—”

“No.” Kaz’s expression darkened and Jesper felt as if he’d probably hit a nerve.

“I thought it bothered you? Wouldn’t things be easier if you could walk?”

“Wouldn’t things be easier if you didn’t gamble away every cent you had? Wouldn’t things be easier if you didn’t have to hide your powers? Wouldn’t things be easier if you didn’t have to worry about someone with the wrong ideas in their head taking offense to the fact that you like men?” Kaz clenched his fingers, leather gloves creasing. “If I could change things on a whim,  _ everything _ would be easier, Jesper. But it's just as easy to say that things would be easier if people did not see a man with a cane as weaker, just as it would be easier if your powers or addiction were not simply seen as things to profit off of. Yes, I could get my leg healed, but why change myself when I can force the world to change for me, and in turn make things better for others who  _ can't _ change? Hmm?"

Jesper turned Kaz’s words over in his mind, considering the philosophy.

He had to admit, he’d thought about what he would do if we was given the opportunity to just—Make his problems go away. His gambling addiction, his Fabrikator powers, his “predilection” for men, as it had been called by a particularly sour uncle in the past. It would be so easy to just…  _ snap _ , and make them go away, and avoid the problems they brought in their wake.

But… then again… What if, instead of watching him drown himself in games, people at the University had actually tried to  _ help _ him? Instead of seeing him as just another washed-up kid, they recognized it for what it was, and kept him away from the clubs?

What if he hadn’t needed to hide the fact that he was  _ zowa _ in the first place? What if he’d never had to fear being conscripted for the Ravkan army and being stolen from home? What if he could’ve used his powers for  _ fun _ , as he had as a child, instead of learning to bury them and hide them for fear of being shunned, or worse?

What if, instead of being slapped and beaten for kissing a boy in a neighboring village, he’d been treated like  _ any other kid having their first kiss _ ? What if his father hadn’t had to give him a second speech about “some people just won’t understand you”? What if there was never that shock of fear whenever he got a sidelong glance while holding a guy’s hand?

What if, instead of thinking he had to write away everything about himself, the world had been a little more understanding of people were who were different, who weren’t built quite the same?

What if the world was just a little kinder?

It was a shocking idea from the man who claimed to be a monster.

“While I’m loath to kick you out of your own bed, I don’t think there’s room enough here for the both of us,” Kaz remarked, bandages wound around his bicep. Jesper glanced the mysterious “R”, but made no remark on it (even Inej had yet to get an answer on what it meant).

“Psh, I’ve had folks bigger than you in here,” Jesper reasoned, pulling back the covers. Kaz stood, quickly grabbing his cane and balancing on it with a slight hiss of pain. Jesper  _ had _ shared his bed with a number of people who took up more space than Kaz, skinny as he was, but the trick here would be navigating the fact that Kaz rarely allowed people within three feet of him, let alone close enough to press their chest into his back—The only situation really allowed with such a narrow area.

Jesper cocked his head, looking between his bed and Kaz, who raised an eyebrow, curious to see how he would execute this plan. With an “Aha!”, Jesper turned to his dresser, rummaging through drawers until he pulled out another blanket, leaping onto the mattress and pressing himself to the wall. He laid down, pulling his quilt over his side and then laying down the second blanket over his front.

“See?” he said, gesturing to the bundle of covers around him. “No touching! And neither of us have to sleep on the floor!”

Kaz narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, pressing a gloved hand against the blanket across Jesper’s front. It was a thick, wooly thing that he usually used in the colder winter months when the breezes from the canals swept through the Slat’s many holes and left the Dregs shivering, and though it was nearing the end of springtime now, Jesper could suffer through a bit of extra warmth for the night.

Seemingly satisfied, Kaz carefully propped his cane up against Jesper’s dresser, still in reaching distance from the bed for when he rose (though, in a room this small,  _ everything _ was in reaching distance) and carefully removed his gloves, not meeting Jesper’s eyes as he carefully set them atop his clothes.

Kaz climbed into the bed, muscles tense as Jesper gently pulled the quilt over his shoulder. “Relax,” Jesper whispered. “We’re just cuddling.”

“We are not  _ cuddling _ ,” Kaz growled. “And you will tell  _ no one _ about this, or I’ll have you dangled from your toes on the top of the Watchtower.”

“Yeah, yeah, scary face, meanie Kaz, I get it,” Jesper muttered sleepily, eyes closing as he heard Kaz’s breathing settle.

He would  _ not _ tell anyone that he and Kaz cuddled that one rainy night (though a slight brag to Inej that he’d now shared a bed with  _ the _ Kaz Brekker was in order), but he  _ would _ memorize the rise and fall of Kaz’s chest as he slept, the way he tossed and turned, pulling blankets from their carefully-crafted positions, and how when their skin brushed—Only for a moment, a harmless touch of Kaz’s foot against Jesper’s leg—He’d bolted awake, shaking and gasping.

He told no one that Dirtyhands was plagued by nightmares, crying for a boy named Jordie when he thought no one could hear.

He told no one.

But he promised himself that the next time Kaz looked weary after a fight, or a rainy day had made his cane too slick for the stairs, he would cancel his plans.


End file.
